


show me no mercy (grown sick of this fight so frequent)

by OsleyaKomWonkru



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Abby Gets The Tea She Deserves, Blood, Developing Relationship, Episode: s06e02 Red Sun Rising, F/F, Gen, Healing, Peace, Self-Harm, Solitary Confinement, Soul-Searching, Trigedasleng, canon-divergent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 00:03:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19306567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OsleyaKomWonkru/pseuds/OsleyaKomWonkru
Summary: Octavia doesn’t get to the ground.After the fight in the mess hall, she wakes up alone in a cell.And now she has some choices to make.But why lock her up when she could just put her back in cryosleep?“Let her live with what she’s become.” Abby’s voice started to whisper, increasing in volume, echoing all around her. “Let her live with what she’s become.”Octavia slammed a fist into the door, and another, relishing in the pain that spiked up her arms, the skin on her knuckles splitting open again. Her punches began to swerve wherever they connected, the door slippery with her own blood.Red blood. That was always the problem, wasn’t it?





	show me no mercy (grown sick of this fight so frequent)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm Octavia-starved, folks. She's barely had any screentime in the latest episodes, and it is driving me nuts. So this idea came to me, I hope you like it. Something a bit different :) Happier. Healthier. And of course, with plenty of tea being served to Abby.
> 
> Trigedasleng is translated inline, to make it easier.

The mechanical hum all around her was the first thing that Octavia registered as she came to, mind still groggy from the tranquilizer.

_The tranquilizer that Abby stabbed me with when I objected to being left behind while they went to the ground,_ Octavia fumed, remembering Abby’s look of contempt as her fingers found the injection site, buried beneath one of the many bruises on her neck.

She opened her eyes, taking in her surroundings, realizing why the mechanical hum was so loud, almost as loud as it had been when she’d been forced to hide under the floor of the Ark.

She was in a cell.

Octavia remembered that the _Eligius IV_ had been a prison ship, and now she found herself in one of their tiny cells, even smaller than the one she’d been in on the Ark. There was a toilet and small sink in one corner and an algae tap with a bowl in another, but other than that there was nothing. She pushed on the door, hoping that perhaps they’d left it unlocked, that after they were off and away they wouldn’t feel the need to lock her up even more, but no such luck.

“Of course she did.” Octavia muttered to herself, knowing Abby masterminded this. After Niylah had woken her from cryosleep against Abby’s orders, there was no doubt that Abby wanted to put her out of commission again.

But why lock her up when she could just put her back in cryosleep?

_“Let her live with what she’s become.”_ Abby’s voice started to whisper, increasing in volume, echoing all around her. _“Let her live with what she’s become.”_

Octavia slammed a fist into the door, and another, relishing in the pain that spiked up her arms, the skin on her knuckles splitting open again. Her punches began to swerve wherever they connected, the door slippery with her own blood.

_Red blood. That was always the problem, wasn’t it? ___

__Octavia screamed in frustration, collapsing to her knees as she continued to pound on the door, voice growing hoarse as she tried to drown out the memory of Abby’s words. As her voice went, so did her strength, blood streaming down the backs of her hands as she slapped a weak palm against the door until she passed out again._ _

____

* * *

This time it was pain.

Octavia awoke with a crick in her neck from where she’d collapsed awkwardly against the door, and her arms throbbed with pain. Half-dried blood caked her knuckles and the backs of her hands. Angry red and purple bruising covered most of the skin she could see, and if the aches in the rest of her body were any indication, the bruises continued there too.

She thought back to the last time she’d been covered in this much blood.

_“Let them see her like this.”_ Gaia had said, her mind already fixated on creating a new faith to champion, a new faith to unite Wonkru under their new leader.

_Let. Let. Let._

Monty had called her a dictator. Octavia almost laughed at the absurdity. None of them had realized just how trapped she’d been. How she was the one who had the fewest choices of all. Only ever been able to consider one thing: _Will this make my people survive?_

How many had survived in the end? Not even four hundred. Not even a third of who she’d saved when the bunker doors closed. She’d given everything she had, she’d given all of herself, and it still hadn’t been enough.

_She_ hadn’t been enough.

The algae tap gurgled, releasing a fresh stream of algae sludge into the bowl. Octavia must have been out of it for several cycles, because the bowl was close to overflowing.

She wasn’t hungry, but she was thirsty, and the algae on the floor three feet away won out over the tap seven feet away.

Octavia hauled herself across the floor to the bowl, sipping the goo away from the sides so that it wouldn’t spill before lifting it to her lips. The algae soothed her raw throat, though she still couldn’t muster much more than a croak. Wasn’t like there was anyone to talk to anyway.

Finishing the bowl, Octavia dropped it back under the tap with a clatter. Six years of algae couldn’t have been so bad, she mused, thinking of the life _her_ brother and _his_ family must have had on the Ring. They’d never had to resort to eating their friends to survive. She wondered if it had been close, if they’d had crop failures like in the bunker, if they’d hovered on the edge of starvation, contemplating what would happen when they _just couldn’t make it anymore_ with the mouths they had to feed. Would they starve together, or would one of them have given all of themselves so the others would live?

Octavia lay back on the cool metal floor, welcoming the feel on her bruised muscles despite the chill. Maybe this didn’t have to be so bad. There was no one to disappoint here. No one relying on her. No one whispering in her ear saying she needed to do this or that, and then turning on her when she followed their orders. Not even the random inspections that struck fear in her heart her entire childhood.

Was this what peace felt like?

* * *

Peace was elusive.

Octavia bolted awake, chest heaving in panic as she tried to remind herself where she was. That she wasn’t in the bunker anymore. That her nightmares of the Dark Year were just that, nightmares, they weren’t real anymore. They couldn’t be real.

_Breathe, dammit, breathe._

Octavia opened her eyes, trying to remember a calming technique that Niylah had taught her years ago.

_What can I see? Metal walls. My blood on the door. Algae in a bowl. Torn knees of my pants. My blood on my hands._

_What can I touch? Metal. Flesh. Blood. Algae._

_What can I hear? Machine hum. My breathing… my breathing…_

Octavia looked around frantically, trying to find a third sound to focus on, finding only the sounds that she herself made, and they weren’t enough, _they weren’t enough,_ and bile began to well up in her throat, threatening to choke off an already limited air supply.

She dragged herself over to the toilet, heaving her meager stomach contents into it, the taste of algae mixed with stomach acid revolting enough to take her mind off her inability to breathe. After hacking out a few more mouthfuls of the stuff, Octavia took a shaky but deep breath, resting her forehead against the cold metal wall to center herself again.

Pulling herself to her feet, Octavia rinsed out her mouth and took a few long drinks of water. A few more measured breaths, and she felt almost human again.

How long it had been since the last time she felt that way, she didn’t know. Years, a century of cryosleep notwithstanding. She’d worn her mask for too long, and now that it had been torn away, every raw nerve was left exposed to the world, which had led to her beating in the mess hall. She knew what she was doing when she goaded them into attacking her. Physical pain would blot out the emotional pain that coursed through her veins, and if they happened to get lucky, well…

_Do I want to die?_ Octavia asked herself now.

_No. Not here. Not like this. I won’t give them that satisfaction._

_So I guess I have to live._

_But how?_

Octavia didn’t like her imprisonment, but she remembered what Indra had taught her a long time ago: _A warrior doesn’t worry about what she can’t control._

She couldn’t control when or if that door would ever unlock. She couldn’t control the intervals at which the algae arrived. But everything else _was_ under her control.

She did have control over herself. Her actions. Her emotions. She had only herself to worry about, responsible for no other lives but her own.

That certainly felt freeing.

Turning back to the sink, Octavia washed her face, the rough calluses on her fingers scrubbing away what flecks of blood still clung to her skin. She cleaned her hands too, rubbing off the stubborn bloodstains that trailed down her arms. Her knuckles were heavily bruised and swollen, and Octavia considered that a few could even be broken. Nothing she could do about that though, besides keep them clean and avoid punching the walls again.

Cleaned up as well as she could be, Octavia paced her cell, getting a feel for the space she had to work with. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to stretch and move through her sword forms, even if she didn’t have a sword.

She moved through her usual training routine, not pushing herself too hard, since she was still feeling the bruises from her fight with Skaikru and with her cell door. Her fingers trailed over the light bruise on her jaw, and she found herself wondering about Niylah. Her only friend. Had they taken her to the ground? Was she still on the ship? Did they lock her up too, or was she searching the ship room by room to find her?

_You can’t control that, Octavia._ She scolded herself. _Focus on what you can control._

As she came to the end of her routine, the algae tap disgorged its next meal. While it tasted horrid coming up, going down it was still bearable. She didn’t love it, but if she had to choose between algae and her people’s flesh, the algae won.

After washing down the algae with more water, Octavia took a seat in the middle of the floor. While she’d cultivated patience for six long years in the bunker, the last weeks on Earth after the bunker was opened had stretched that patience to the breaking point. She needed to regain her patience. Regain her focus. But this time, instead of focusing her energy on what she had to do to save her people, she could turn that energy inward, looking only at herself.

_Is there anything left to save of myself?_ Octavia wondered.

Another voice began to take shape in her mind, one she hadn’t let herself think about in a very very long time.

_“Ge smak daun, gyon op nodotaim.”_ Lincoln’s voice whispered through her mind, the familiar tone wrapping around her like a blanket as she let herself fall into the happy memories. _“Ste yuj, ai niron.”_  
(Get knocked down, get back up. / Stay strong, my love.)

_“Ai don dula tona tofon op, Linkon.”_  
(I’ve done so many hard things, Lincoln.)

_“Ai get in. Ba nou mou. Nou mou job. Wonwe yu fis yu op. Fis yu tombom op. Hon yu chilnes op.”_  
(I know. But no more. No more responsibility. Only to heal yourself. Heal your heart. Find your peace.)

_“Ai laik gona. Na ste gada chilnes in?”_  
(I’m a warrior. Can I still have peace?)

_“Yu laik gona. Yu nou laik shuda. Sou nou teik em lan yu op. Yu sad yu gonplei in. Nou em.”_  
(You are a warrior. You are not a weapon. Don’t let them use you. You choose your battles. Not them.)

_“Ai mema yu we, Linkon.”_  
(I miss you, Lincoln.)

_“Ai hod yu in otaim, Okteivia. Ai na ste kamp raun yu otaim. Ba hod in nodotaim. Beja.”_  
(I will always love you, Octavia. I will always be with you. But love again. Please.”

_“Ai fir raun.”_  
(I’m afraid.)

_“Nou fir raun. Hod in nodotaim.”_  
(Don’t be afraid. Love again.)

Tears slipped down Octavia’s cheeks as she nodded, wondering if she was now truly losing her mind, or if Lincoln really was there, or if a subconscious part of her own mind was giving her advice she didn’t want to listen to in any other form except from Lincoln’s memory.

Any of the above was possible, really.

* * *

Octavia wasn’t sure how many days passed like this. She did her exercises and sword forms. She meditated, trying to find that peace that Lincoln spoke about that still seemed so far away. She didn’t know how to heal herself, but figured as long as she did no further harm, that might be the best she had for the time being. As for love, well, being alone in a cell meant that love was further away than ever.

Then the door opened.

Octavia was sitting facing away from the door, but the grind of metal was unmistakable. She could hear several people there, though they didn’t yet speak, and more noise further into the ship to boot. More people were awake than just Skaikru, that she was certain of.

She opened her eyes and stood up, turning around to see who was there. Perhaps Niylah, or…

But no. It was who she wanted to see least - Abby, and Raven by her side.

“Come on.” Abby said by way of greeting.

“What for?”

“There’s trouble on the ground.” Raven said. “The people there, they - they steal bodies so that they can live forever. They raise Nightbloods, and when they’re adults - they take them over. We think they took Clarke.”

“So you want me to… what, exactly?”

“Fight.” Abby said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

_“Now_ you want me to fight for you?” Octavia scoffed, walking right up to Abby and staring her down. “Only when it’s convenient for _you,_ of course. You lock me up without even an apology and now you want me to do your bidding. Well guess what. I’m done doing your dirty work.” Octavia spat into Abby’s face.

“Those are your friends down there.” Raven protested. “Your brother’s down there.”

“And where were they when I needed them? When I needed _him?”_ Octavia asked. “Where were any of you?” She turned back to Abby. “I trusted you, and you used me. Then you betrayed me. Not anymore. I don’t answer to you. I’m not your weapon. Fight your own wars.”

Octavia elbowed them both out of the way, not giving them the opportunity to lock her up again. She stalked around a corner and ran straight into Niylah.

“Sorry.” Octavia muttered, afraid to meet Niylah’s eyes but she pushed past her fear and looked up anyway, not sure what she expected to see.

“My fault. I was lurking.” Niylah smiled through a number of fading bruises, ones she hadn’t had when Octavia had seen her last.

“What happened to you?” Octavia asked, not able to stop herself from running a soft finger over Niylah’s bruised cheek.

“I objected to them locking you away again.” Niylah shrugged. “They locked me up too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I knew what I was getting into when I chose you.”

Octavia’s heart skipped a beat. “When you chose me? What do you mean?”

“What do you want me to mean?”

“I… I don’t know.” But Octavia did know. She just didn’t know how to say it, and she was pretty sure Niylah knew that too.

“I heard you tell Abby you weren’t going to fight her wars anymore.” Niylah said. “I’m proud of you.”

“You are?”

“Mmmhmmm.” Niylah hummed, eyes playful. “Everyone else seems to be going though. So I guess it’s just the two of us and this whole ship to ourselves.”

“Don’t you want to go to the ground?”

“I want to be where you are.”

“And if they don’t ever come back?”

“Then I’ll be stuck with only you for all of eternity.” Niylah raised her eyebrow with a smirk. “I can think of worse things.”

“Niylah, I - I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?”

“When I was in there, by myself, I - I told myself to find three things. Peace. Healing. Love. But I don’t know how to do any of it. I _want_ to, but - I don’t know how.”

“Well, you’ve already chosen the first one. You’re not fighting someone else’s war. As for the second…” Niylah took both of Octavia’s hands in hers, examining her still-swollen knuckles. “It looks like you did fight after they put you in that cell.”

“When I first woke up. Yeah. But that was it. I didn’t do it again.”

Niylah nodded. “So you’re working on the second. But I assume you know healing isn’t only physical.”

“Yeah. That’s the hard part.”

Niylah tucked Octavia’s hair behind her ear. “Which brings us to the third. It can help with that.”

“Yeah, that’s what - well, I guess it wasn’t _really_ Lincoln, but it felt like it was - he told me to love again. That he’ll always love me, but that I should love again.”

“He’s right, you know.”

Octavia looked down to where Niylah still held one of her hands in hers. “I could love you.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “You’ve always been so good to me, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

“Moments when you feel you don’t are the moments you need it the most.”

“Could you love me?”

“I already do. I’ve just been waiting for you to catch up.” Niylah pressed a light finger under Octavia’s chin, encouraging her to look up, which she finally did. _“Ai hod yu in, Okteivia._ And it’s okay if you can’t say it yet. I wouldn’t expect you to this soon. Not when you’re still learning to love yourself again.”

“Loving you will be easier than that.”

“I’ll help you.” Niylah pressed a kiss to Octavia’s swollen knuckles. “So what do you want to do with your new freedom?”

“Just this.” Octavia said, pulling Niylah in for a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from “No Mercy” and “Ghosts” by PVRIS.


End file.
